


Pages Upon Pages

by predictaslash



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Burned!Peter, But the rest of the Hales no so much human, Librarian!Peter, M/M, Peter is Human, Pre-Slash, Sheriff Stilinski gives good advice, Then Real Slash, research buddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-23
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/predictaslash/pseuds/predictaslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everyone knows Peter Hale is the weird guy who works at the public library and talks to himself and is generally to be avoided."</p>
<p>A series of short chapters in the same universe where Peter Hale is a human librarian and Stiles needs lots of help.  Lots and lots of help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One

**Author's Note:**

> This is not yet finished, not sure when it will be. I think these can work as stand-alones, though. As ever, I hope you enjoy. Title from a Decemberists song.
> 
> (PS: I'd like to thank everyone who has reviewed my work or given me encouragement--before recently, I hadn't posted in years, so I need the confidence. Thanks again!)

Everyone knows Peter Hale is the weird guy who works at the public library and talks to himself and is generally to be avoided. Everyone in town knows that Peter Hale is like that because the same fire that gave him the burn scars on his face and neck and maybe the rest of his body is the fire that killed all but two members of his entire family. Everyone knows six years in a coma didn’t do Peter Hale any favors mentally or physically. He’s a little on the skinny side from being fed by an IV and he talks to books and sometimes growls.

But.

But fuck them because only Stiles knows that he’s the best researcher in Beacon Hills. The boring woman who sits behind the reference desk at the community college library ain’t got nothing on Peter Hale’s deep internet research skillz. 

Sure, he sometimes gets twitchy or walks off in the middle of a sentence to maybe find a book or maybe not come back for a few hours (each possibility is as likely as the other), but Stiles is kind of the same way and he doesn’t have the excuse of post-traumatic stress.

They meet when Scott gets bit by a “dog” or “mountain lion” or whatever they wanted to pretend it was at first. Once they realize the bite wasn’t just a possible rabies exposure, Stiles exhausts the internet and still can’t tell fact from fiction from erotic fanfiction and ends up at the library frowning in the direction of the five books on the occult that the library offers. Enough seriously weird stuff happens in this town that Stiles would have thought they’d have a special Giles-esque collection in a book cage (that would double as a full moon containment cage), but they just have a book on “vampyrs” and a few collections on ghost stories and American folklore. 

But, anyway, back on track: Stiles goes in, exudes displeasure at the shit library, and is about to have a breakdown because seriously, how the fuck is he supposed to help his best friend through this shit and there are people with guns running around Beacon Hills now and is silver a thing? Is wolfsbane a thing? Mating? What happens on a lunar eclipse? Can Scott turn people? Are there really alpha/beta/omega dynamics? Where does Scott fit into the hierarchy? If werewolves are real, what else is real?

Stiles is pretty sure he’s about to cry from frustration, but in the manliest way possible, when Peter Hale comes up to him and asks if he needs help finding something. Peter has his head tilted a little so that his longish brown hair is covering up the burns on the right side of his face. He seems soft-spoken, but his words are precise and confident and just a little biting.

Stiles lets out an explosion of words, as he does, and Peter’s eyes widen as if he didn’t actually expect a response in the affirmative. Yes, Stiles does need help and he’s desperate and “Could you please help me find more resources that aren’t this pop trash?” His hands are now on his hips and he knows he’s the image of his father when exasperated, but when his dad looks like this, it’s usually super effective at getting him answers.

Instead of being confused or turned off by Stiles’s personality, as people usually are, one corner of Peter’s mouth turns up in an almost-smile and he offers to help locate some more reliable and scholarly sources.

And that’s the beginning of their working relationship. A weird kid hanging out with a weird older man and researching the supernatural in a mediocre library.


	2. Six Months

Six months into this thing they have, Peter tells him that he knows Scott’s a werewolf, that Stiles isn’t just “curious and possibly going into cryptozoology,” and that it’s okay, he’s from a family of werewolves. He was just born human.

It happens like this:

Stiles is happily doing his trig homework while Peter is checking in books. Barely anyone ever uses the library and the other employees have become used to the clumsy boy that sits at the front desk and does his homework while talking to Peter about some truly weird-ass shit. 

“I won’t be in tomorrow,” Stiles says, looking up suddenly because he just remembered he’s on full-moon support for Scott. Allison has a big project to finish, so Stiles will babysit this go round.

He really doesn’t expect Peter to roll his eyes and say, “Yes, Stiles, it’s a full moon.”

Stiles drops his pencil and gapes at Peter. Gaping is not a good look on him, but he’s still not great at covering up his surprise after all these crazy months.

“Scott’s a werewolf and you take care of him during full moons.”

“What, no. What?”

“It’s kind of obvious that we don’t do all of this research for the sake of satiating your curiosity.”

“Yeah, but maybe I’m the werewolf, did you ever think of that?”

“You’re about as intimidating as a kitten.”

“I’m plenty intimidating, pal, and hey! Don’t distract me from the big revelation thing going on right now.”

“Which is that Scott’s a werewolf.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

“Yeah, well, actually raised by wolves.” Peter points to himself. “Did you think I just happened to have all of those ancient, rare tomes on magic and mythology?” Peter takes in Stiles’s sheepish shrug and slightly red cheeks. “Oh. You did. That’s so cute.”

“Shut up.” Stiles pretends to turn back to his work, but, as always, his mind jumps ahead to make some assumptions about Peter’s family situation. Stiles can tell who is a wolf by now--they always think they’re covertly scenting the air when they aren’t. So, Peter is a human born of wolves, which is not that uncommon, especially if the parent is a turned wolf. He thinks. He hasn’t had time to ask Deaton questions that he won’t actually answer about wolf packs. And Peter’s family being in this crazy supernatural shit--well, their untimely deaths from an extremely suspicious fire make a lot more sense. Stiles knows about hunters who shoot and never ask questions. So, he has these educated guesses, but being Stiles, he wants to know that he’s right. 

He and Peter aren’t close like that. He can’t just ask. Hell, it’s enough that Peter has shared that he knows Scott’s a werewolf and that he was raised by werewolves. Peter keeps his secrets and knowledge and giving them away means losing a little bit more power and control.

That's enough to make Stiles smile softly down at his graphing calculator.

And that smile is enough to make Peter forget to pull his sleeve over his scarred wrist when it ruches up. The sight of new skin sufficiently distracts Stiles from any work for the rest of the evening.


	3. Eight Months

Eight months into being what Stiles calls “research colleagues,” Stiles calls Peter’s cell for the first time ever. Only because Scott’s not answering on date night with Allison and he doesn’t know who else to call. 

“Ohfuckohshitohfuck, Peter, fuck.” He gets this out between pants before Peter manages to say so much as a hello. 

“Stiles. What’s wrong?” While Stiles would normally be thrilled that Peter sounds concerned and then over-analyze this conversation for days after, it’s kind of hard to feel anything but panic as he runs and runs away from--

“KID MURDER GHOST!”

Peter, somehow, remains calm even though little kid ghosts should strike horror in the hearts of all people forever. “Are you close to your car?”

“Yes, so close, but it’s going to come back at any minute, Peter, and it’s angry and I just wanted to check out the crime scene and make sure that-”

“Stiles, calm down, stop talking. When you get to your Jeep, grab the lever of your car jack. Should be made of iron. Swing it at the ghost if it comes back. Get in your car. Drive home with the jack in your lap. When you get home, you can pour out a circle of salt around your bed or your house or wherever and it will keep you safe. That will probably be overkill since ghosts usually have a specific domain and can’t go but so far away from the place they haunt.”  


“Peter, this is fucking terrifying.” With shaking hands, he manages to unlock his Jeep, find the jack lever, and then get in to start her up. “Can you--can you stay on the line with me until I get home?”

“Yes, of course, Stiles.” 

“I’m so glad you know about these things.”

“As am I.”

“Seriously, thank you. I’m going to be in first thing in the morning to figure out how to exercise this ghost or whatever it is you do to kill ghosts. Re-kill. Whatever.”

“There’s an incantation and burning some sage involved in most cleansings, but ghosts of a violent nature usually require more work.”

“I’ll pick up coffee and bagels on the way in.”

“That’s why you’re my favorite library patron.”

“That and my good looks and boyish charm.”

“Yes, of course. How could I forget.” Peter’s using Stiles’s favorite tone of voice, the one where he sounds super dry and sarcastic and, well, _lucid_. It usually signals that he’s having a good day, emotionally and memory-wise. “I think, I think I can hear you smiling at the phone. Why?”

“I just like this. Us and our banter.” He tries to sound casual and hopes that Peter’s powers of over-the-phone observation are limited to his voice and don’t extend to the insane beating of his heart. Oh, wait, running away from the ghost would cause that. He’s covered. 

“I.” Peter is hesitant and that is very unlike him on good days and bad. “I enjoy it as well.”

Stiles’s smile gets impossibly wider. “Awesome.”

“So,” Peter says after a silly, doofy pause where Stiles can totally tell that they’re both smiling stupidly at their phones. “Why are you out on your own at midnight being chased by a creepy kid ghost?”

“Uhhh, because Scott’s on a date and I had to investigate the spooky rumors right away. You know I can’t wait to solve mysteries. Impatience, ADHD, et cetera.”

“Next time you have the impulse to go into a haunted house alone, don’t.”

“All of this evil isn’t gonna kill itself.”

“No, but it could kill you.”

“Alright, Lecture McDisapproval, next time you can come along and be ghost bait.”

“With pleasure.”

“Seriously?” Stiles pulls into his driveway and forgets that maybe he should run in his house and hide under his covers until the sun comes up. Because Peter Hale wants to hang out with him outside of research sessions at the library. Possibly in secluded areas after dark.

“I think you’ve more than proven that you cannot be trusted to safely do the recon.”

“Oh, and you’re the hero Gotham needs?”

“I understand that reference.”

“I can’t believe you prioritized Nolan’s Batman trilogy over The Avengers universe. You’re a monster. You obviously can’t be trusted with your pop culture recovery.” At this point in the conversation, Sheriff Stilinski pokes his head out the front door and squints at his son, who is still sitting in his Jeep with the lights and engine on. “Oh, shit, gotta go. I will actually be home before curfew for once. My dad seems very confused.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.” So soft and fond and not like Peter’s voice at all. 

“‘Night. Thanks for being the Bobby to my. Hmmmm. Am I more of a Sam or a Dean? Maybe a Charlie, actually. Although you’re more like a Gabriel, I guess, and--” Peter hangs up on him mid-sentence because a) Stiles needs to know when to stop talking and b) Peter _does not_ understand that reference. Maybe that makes him Castiel or Captain America. Stiles shakes himself out of the pop culture loop he’s stuck on and climbs out of the Jeep.

“Hey, kiddo,” his dad says casually as he flips through the channels as if he wasn’t just flitting around the house and fretting, which is what he’s done every night since the big dramatic reveal of Scott’s furry face and claws. He relaxes as he watches Stiles plop down on the sofa with a (good) dazed expression on his face. Maybe, just maybe, his kid managed normal teenage stuff tonight. Or maybe he’s under a spell. These are thoughts Sheriff Stilinski has now--that magic is a possible explanation for things. Kind of hard for a devout atheist to process. “Wanna watch tonight’s Conan?”

Stiles seems to shake himself out of it. “C’mon, Dad, is that even a question?”

They both fall asleep in the living room with the television on. One man is happy to have his son close, the other happy to have his dad to protect him from vengeful baby spirits.


	4. Nine Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Very short, no Peter)

“Son,” Sheriff Stilinski says when they’re nine months into their...thing. “I know that you know what you’re doing and I know that you have a lot of extreme circumstances in your life what with the ghosts and werewolves and whatever else lives out in those woods, so I’m not going to act like I know better than you.” Uh oh. Danger, danger. “Just...tread lightly with Peter Hale, okay? I don’t want to have to arrest him or pick up the broken little pieces of your heart.”

“Oh MY god, am I that obvious?” His dad just gives him a look. “Okay, yes, I concede, I’m the most obvious crusher ever, but I think the crushee, at least, remains oblivious.”

“That might be the brain damage, which is another issue you should consider.”

“Wait, how do you know that we aren’t already _breakin’ the law, breakin’ the law_?" His dad is not amused by his musical abilities. Or the fact that he so easily brushed past the serious conversation they’re having at 7:30 AM on a Tuesday. “Yes, yes, I wouldn’t be able to hide it because I can’t hide anything from you ever because you’re the Sheriff ‘round these parts.”

“Damn straight.” His dad goes back to his paper and it seems like this Serious Sheriff Talk was maybe too easy.

“Dad, I would never do anything to jeopardize Peter’s future. But would you be mad or upset if one day he maybe did like me back?”

“Of course not. As long as you’re eighteen and he treats you right and makes you happy, what does anything else matter?”

Stiles smiles and it’s small and down at the table and his dad doesn’t even see it. He just really has the best dad possible and his opinion meant everything to Stiles. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, Son.”


	5. Ten Months, Five Days

Ten months and five days in, Stiles and Peter have their first fight.

At this point, Stiles has a countdown calendar that has three and a half months to go until he’s perfectly legal to get it on with a certain, older man. Peter does not know about this calendar. He will hopefully never know about this calendar. Mostly because September 21st has a big red circle around “Legally Doin’ It Time!”

Today, Stiles can’t wait to get to the library. He missed the usual session last night because he was too busy getting the shit kicked out of him by some non-Argent hunters trying to bag themselves a true alpha. Needless to say, Stiles did not give up Scott, but also needless to say, Scott and Allison showed up to save the day at the last possible moment. After taking in Stiles’s wounds, Allison fired bolt after bolt into their limbs--the wounds weren’t life-threatening, but they caused a lot of pain. She smiled the whole time and Stiles wondered how his two friends made such a great couple when they were such opposites. 

Stiles realizes why Allison went so hard at those guys when he sees himself in the mirror. His jaw is purple, there are small cuts _everywhere_ , and he’s pretty sure a rib is broken. His dad might know what he’s involved with, but Stiles is already thinking up a lie. He doesn’t think he’ll actually buy “lacrosse accident.” At this point, telling his dad he got beat up by school bullies is a better option than “hunters tortured me for information."

When Stiles arrives at the library, his face falls a little when Peter isn’t at the reference desk. He starts to wind through the stacks looking for him, but every time he rounds one corner, he feels like he sees a figure retreating. Either the library has a ghost (not that unlikely to be honest) or Stiles is being avoided.

 _No one_ can avoid Stiles. He pretends to round one corner, doubles back, speeds up, and bam! Runs right into Peter in the next aisle. Actually manages to corner him. Pretends like nothing weird is going on. 

“Hey, Peter, what’s up?”

“Shouldn’t you be at home recovering?” His voice is dangerous in a way Stiles is not accustomed to. He sounds like a completely different Peter. More like the one who scares the crap out of kids who are loud in the library and not the one who is soft and strong and there for Stiles.

“Nah, I’m good. Scott’s mom got me the good painkillers.”

“And you drove here?”

“Dad dropped me off. I’m not an idiot.” He sets himself right up for that one.

“No, of course not.” At this point in this strange conversation, Peter does something he’s never done before--he gets right up in his personal space reaches out to touch Stiles’s face. He cups his jaw gently and for a second Stiles thinks he’s going to have his first _real_ kiss (and he kind of feels like Jane Eyre to be honest). Peter tilts his head to the left, then to the right, and Stiles realizes he’s just glaring at the ever-darkening bruises that litter his jaw.

Peter’s own jaw is tight as if he’s grinding his teeth together. “I don’t want you back here until this is gone,” he hisses and uh oh, this is Peter worse than any of his usual bad days. This is Peter who was raised by very dangerous creatures and learned a thing or two from them. Hell, Stiles doesn’t know about before the fire--the dangerous creatures probably learned a thing or two from Peter.

Stiles stops pretending that this is okay. “I don’t know why you’re doing this.” His voice is almost pleading, trying to appeal to the predator in front of him.

“I thought you weren’t an idiot, Stiles. You know perfectly well what’s wrong.” 

Stiles begins to shake his head, to continue to play dumb, but then Peter’s hand is going up his shirt and he’s having a very Xander moment because _Hands! Hands in new places!_ The long, unmarred fingers of his left hand are skimming along the edge of the bandages wrapped tightly around his ribcage. Stiles shivers and breaks out in goosebumps and there’s no way that Peter doesn’t know what he’s doing to him. 

Stiles has never been half hard while being mad that someone is mad at him for something that’s not his fault. It’s a weird feeling.

Danny Mahealani, of all people, chooses that moment to pass by (probably on his way to find sources for their AP English Summer work) and Stiles would be pleased at the confused shock on Danny’s face if not for the fact that a) this is a private moment and b) this looks really bad and he doesn’t want Peter to get in trouble, but also c) Stiles is getting more and more incensed at Peter’s reaction to his near-death at the hands of hunters. He doesn’t have time to think about how Danny might now see him as a three-dimensional person with hidden depths and not just that annoying benchwarmer.

So he gives Danny _a look_ until he takes the hint and continues on his magical journey of learning.

Then he skitters away from Peter and knocks his ribs into a shelf in the process, causing a wave of pain and nausea. Peter’s face switches from angry to concerned in no time at all and Stiles gets it, he does, but that doesn’t mean Peter gets to boss him around and make him feel bad for getting the shit kicked out of him by bad guys. He needs Peter to be there for him, damn it. He _needs_ Peter.

“How about this: you call me when you get your shit straight and process your emotions like a person and not a broody, misunderstood dick.” Stiles leaves out the part where he hasn’t bought a new phone because the old one was tossed in a lake on the way to the torture shack. Peter probably won’t call anyway.

Stiles huffs away as best he can and pretends that he isn’t worried that Peter will never talk to him again and hates his guts and will somehow get him banned from the library for life. 

At least he had the last word.


	6. Ten Months, One Week

It takes two days for Peter to cave. Two whole days of misery. Stiles mopes and mopes and his dad hovers and thinks it’s something to do with the injuries and Stiles isn’t going to correct him. 

With all of his free time not spent at the library, Stiles at least had time to replace his phone. And also to grab two burner phones and a backup line (with GPS location tracker always on). And small, long-distance walkies for him, Scott, Allison (and maybe Peter if he ever gets his head out of his ass). Stiles is Mr. Covert Ops now. He’s working on laminated, pocket-sized codeword sheets, too.

Ugh. This is why he’s a seventeen year old virgin who pines for a weird old librarian and stays home alone on a Friday night watching Teen Nick and eating frosting straight from the jar for dinner. He’s so young to be such an old maid.

When his phone rings, he dashes for it. Who knows--could be someone calling him for a hangout. May be his dad checking on him. Probably just a prerecorded telemarketer. He lets it ring twice before he looks down at the caller ID because he doesn’t want to seem desperate or uncool. When he sees who it is, that Peter _is actually calling him to apologize_ , he simultaneously drops the phone while answering it.

“Hey, hi, hey,” he says breathlessly as he finally gets the phone back up to his face.

“Good evening.”

“What’s, uh, up, dude?” Stiles mentally berates himself for sounding like a total moron. Just because he’s supposed to be mad at Peter doesn’t mean he’s not still painfully aware of his desire to make sweet, sweet love to the man.

“I’m sorry.” Just blurted out, ultra not-suave in a very unlike him way.

“Whatever for.” Peter sighs, but if he thinks he can give a generic apology and have it over with, he obviously doesn’t know Stiles at all.

“For being a dick. To you.”

“And?”

“And...what else do you possibly want?”

“An explanation of what caused you to act that way that doesn’t involve the old six-year-coma excuse.” Another sigh. “Come on, Peter, talk about all of your feels.”

“When I was young,” Stiles sits straight up because Peter never ever ever talks about his life Before The Fire. “I tried to keep up with everyone. I was okay with being human, being different because it made me special from my siblings and cousins; singular, unique, different. But I hated being treated like I couldn’t do everything they couldn’t do even though I definitely couldn’t do those things. I couldn’t run and jump and smell and hear like they could. I would inevitably get left behind or get stuck with someone to babysit me just because I was human. It didn’t matter how much I helped or how often I saved the day _because_ I was human.”

“Why didn’t you take the bite?”

“Because I refused to change for anyone.”

“That seems mature.”

“Well, I was in my twenties. The point of this is that I didn’t understand exactly how they felt until you went missing only to show up looking like…”

“Like I went twenty rounds with Rocky?”

“Yes. And I finally understood that no matter how much of an asset I was or how competent or capable, it wasn’t enough to ever get them to stop worrying. Just one bad concussion and I could be dead. And there you were, reminding me that you could just die at any moment despite how safe or prepared you are.”

“Valar morghulis.”

“Now is not the time for pop culture, Stiles. I’m trying to tell you that you’re very important to me. And I may be amenable to change.”

Stiles tries to keep his cool, he really does, but he’s pretty sure that the big lump in his throat is reflected by his shaky voice. “One, it is always the time for pop culture references and two, I forgive you. Just don’t be a jerk to me anymore. Anyone else, fine, but not me.”

“I accept your terms. We’re really okay?”

“Yeah, of course.” There’s a brief silence and Stiles has a feeling that Peter is trying to figure out what to do now. Stiles has a feeling that he might be Peter’s first real friend that isn’t pack (or at least blood-related pack because even Scott has accepted Peter as One of Us).

“So, what are you doing shut in on a Friday night?” 

“Scott has date night with Allison and they’re my only friends. It’s okay, Drake and Josh is on.”

“What is Drake and Josh?”

“It’s a show that I grew up on. It’s about two polar opposite stepbrothers who are totally gaybones for each other.”

“That’s a strange premise for a kid’s show.”

“I would say that they didn’t realize how it would come off, but they actually kiss.”

“That’s…”

“Great, I know. Channel 219 if you’re bored.” Stiles hears Peter fumble around for his remote and then suddenly Drake and Josh is live in person and over the phone. “So, in this episode, Josh breaks up with Drake...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for the next chapter featuring...Derek Hale.


	7. One Year

They’ve been friends for almost a year before Stiles shows up earlier than usual to the library one day, overly concerned about some potential animal mutilations in the woods. He is stopped in his tracks when he sees a man out of the pages of a fucking fashion catalog speaking intensely with Peter and frowning. After a few minutes, Handsome McHotpants hugs Peter while manfully shedding tears. Peter rolls his eyes, but hugs back just as tightly.

Peter’s never once hugged Stiles.

Stiles is not sure why that’s important right now. 

So he does what he always does and insinuates himself into the important touchy-feely moment. 

“Hey, Peter! Who’s your friend with the furrowed brow?” Unfair Cheekbones just glares at him, but Stiles has put up with Lydia’s disapproval for years and she’s the scariest person in Beacon Hills. So, he sticks out his hand and continues, “I’m Stiles.”

“Derek.” Derek reluctantly shakes his hand, but Stiles will take what he can get. 

Peter rolls his eyes again. “Derek, your dear, departed mother raised you better than this.” Derek manages to look sheepish before he scowls and mutters something about manipulation. “Stiles, please excuse my nephew. He was raised by wolves.”

Oooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. “Oh, hi, you’re Derek Hale. So pleased to meet you. Peter’s told me so much about you.”

“He has?”

“Oh, yeah, goes on and on about how you’re graduating magna cum laude from Columbia, but still can’t figure out how to untag yourself in pictures on Facebook.”

Derek scowls and scowls as his uncle laughs under his breath. Stiles turns to Peter because Scott’s really concerned about his friends, the furry, cute, woodland creatures who are getting gutted by...whatever it is and Stiles really doesn’t have time to stand around being frowned at. “So, Peter, I need to talk to you about that thing,” Derek says, in no way subtle or covert.

“What thing?” Stiles asks because he can totally tell that Derek is being dismissive and doesn’t expect Stiles to know anything about his special, magical world of full moons and rapidly healing bruises. 

“It’s a family matter about which I would rather Peter and I speak alone.” Oh, man, that glare could probably give a person lasik if they looked Derek in the eye. 

Stiles waits for Peter to jump in and interrupt, to say, “Hey, boys, there’s enough of me to go around and also Stiles knows about us,” but he never does. He seems like he’s perfectly content to smirk and lean against his desk and watch this showdown.

So he steps in on his own. “Whatever you have to say in front of Peter, you can say in front of me. We’re bros.” AND I DIDN’T LEAVE HIM ALONE, he doesn’t say. He can be tactful at times.

Derek snorts. “I’m sorry, did you say _bros_? Maybe you should leave the adults alone to talk.”

“Oh, gosh, mister, you’re right, I’m just a dumb teenager who doesn’t know anything about anything.”

“The naïve ingenue, I think you mean,” Peter finally contributes.

“When is a Byronic hero going to come and save me from my boring life?” He puts the back of his hand across his forehead and sighs. “Would a swoon be too much at this point?”

“Just a bit.”

Derek clears his throat. “Where’s Laura?” Peter asks right as Derek opens his mouth to speak. The question isn’t really a question--Stiles can tell Peter already knows the answer. He sighs. “Cut to the chase, kid.”

“I’m coming back. For good. Laura didn’t want to, but I never really felt right anywhere else. Hales are supposed to be here, so here I am.”

Stiles knows there’s something else and maybe he should shut his mouth, but, you know, he’s Stiles. “Does this have anything to do with the fact that Kate Argent has a train ticket into town in two weeks?” Peter and Derek both tense up at that name, but Derek actually claws into the reference desk. Stiles doesn’t give a shit about Derek, so he turns to Peter. “Were you ever going to tell me about her or did you think it could wait until she tries to burn Scott’s house down?” 

“It seems like you’ve been holding back, yourself, Stiles.”

“Fair enough. McCall Pack Meeting at my house tonight for what I call Operation: Psychotic Bitch. I’ll bake cookies.”


	8. One Year, Part II

“This is my procedural crime drama-esque information board. Note the color-coded yarn connecting things to other things.”

Peter gets there first. Of course he does. Scott runs on his own time in his own little world and who knows if Derek will even show. His dad will be home in half an hour to attend the meeting as well.

The important thing is that Peter is in his room for the first time and his dad’s not home. He’s really glad Peter’s not a werewolf and probably can’t smell his teenaged grossness all over the room.

“Wow. That’s-”

“Really cool?”

“Slightly obsessive.”

“Oh. Well, this isn’t the half of it.” Stiles turns around and holds out his pinky to Peter. “Swear you won’t tell anyone else if I show you?” Peter links his own pinky with Stiles’s, then crosses his heart. Stiles pretends he doesn’t break out in goosebumps with the contact. He does note with satisfaction that Peter uses his right pinky, which is connected to his burned hand. The shallow ridges of his scars brush against Stiles’s skin. It’s been a year, but they’re getting somewhere.

Peter breaks away, looks at the wall behind Stiles when the contact goes on for too long and it becomes awkward. 

“So, yeah, uh.” He goes over to his closet and pushes his clothes to one side. He crawls under them to reach the latch and presto, a secret second board with more sensitive information. He looks back to see Peter’s reaction--he doesn’t think he’ll be too judgy because he’s also not right in the head, but who knows. Maybe Stiles is actually weirder than Peter. 

Peter who is looking not at his top secret board, but at his ass. _Ohholyshit_. Stiles pretends not to notice, but he’s pretty sure his whole face is flushed. He turns back towards his wall. “What do you think?” 

There’s a slight hitch in his voice. “Very serial killer.”

“Yeah, well, some of this is information my dad doesn’t know I obtained illegally.” Maybe by trying to flirt with Deputy Parrish a little to distract him. Parrish “letting him down easy” has become a weekly routine and it works every time. Mostly because it’s never when his dad is on duty to call him out on his shit.

He covers everything back up and pushes his clothes back in place. “So, I made little information packets for everyone. There are lots of code names, but you’ll pick up on that quick enough.” This is where he goes to the loose floorboard under the loose carpet under his nightstand and grabs the locked box from it. It’s where he keeps even more sensitive information. The last year has made him impossibly more paranoid than he already was. 

Stiles moves to sit on his bed and beckons Peter over with the file in his hand. Peter walks over and hesitates before sitting down next to him. ( _On my bed, we’re on my bed,_ Stiles thinks). “So, this is everything I could find on Kate Argent since she was born. Aliases, known crimes, crimes that are probably hers. Known accomplices. Bank accounts. It’s not a lot, she’s really good at covering her tracks.” 

Peter runs a finger down Stiles’s notes. “How did you know?”

“You know me, I need to know everything. I wanted to know more about you and the fire, I guess, and when I looked into it I found the original report from the insurance investigator. It claimed arson. Then, three days later, the amended report claimed there was an electrical fire. Then, I researched fire science stuff and I just kept going until I figured it out.”

“You wanted to know more about me?” 

“Yeah. Sorry about that, I know it’s, like, an invasion--” And suddenly Stiles isn’t talking anymore because Peter’s LIPS ARE ON HIS LIPS. Peter pulls away as quickly as he leans in and looks like he might try to dart through the second story window to get away.

“I shouldn’t have--” Stiles pulls Peter back for a second, only slightly longer kiss. Then he grabs Peter’s hand because he’s twelve, apparently, but also because he doesn’t want Peter to run away. 

“Please don’t go,” he whispers, his lips so close to Peter’s still. 

“I won’t. Stiles, I--” Peter actually growls as a body launches itself through Stiles’s window and shifts so that he’s between Stiles and the intruder. Then he realizes it's his clueless nephew and relaxes.

“Jesus, Derek, we have a door. I thought you said he was housebroken, Peter.” Derek also growls. The Hale family has this whole growly thing around each other, apparently, and Peter’s been pretty good at pretending he isn’t a wolf in a human’s body. Stiles makes a mental note to research pack mentality and how it could relate to this situation later.

“Sorry.” Derek doesn’t actually sound like he means it. He just invades Stiles’s privacy by sniffing the air. What he smells makes him look a bit queasy. “Didn’t know if your parents knew about us.”

“Parent. Singular.” Now Derek really does look contrite, so Stiles takes pity on him. “Dude, it’s okay--I mean, how often does that happen to you guys?” Derek nods and gives a little smile that looks like he’s trying to be an actual person and it’s a little terrifying. Like Wednesday Addams. What a weird dude. 

A second later, a wolfy figure jumps onto his roof, then rolls through his window. Stiles sighs and puts his hand to his temple. “Why don’t we all just use windows instead of doors? It’s so inconspicuous. Hunters will never notice all of the people vertically jumping two stories.”

Scott, because he’s Scott, just goes over to Derek and holds out his hand with a huge, Scott grin on his face. “Hi, I’m Scott, you must be Derek. I’m so happy to meet you. I’ve never met another wolf before. Well, except for whoever bit me, I guess. But less meeting, more biting and running away.”

Derek has a look on his face like a) are you kidding me, b) I can’t believe this kid is an alpha, and c) how do I friends. He starts by shaking his hand.


	9. One Year, Three Weeks

“Well, that escalated quickly,” Stiles mutters after his dad puts three rounds into Kate Argent’s head and heart (that’s three rounds _each_ ).

He thinks he’s relatively unscathed compared to the other humans in the room, even considering he’s been concussed, cattle-prodded, punched, et cetera, all in the name of torture for the hell of it. Allison is still muttering to herself along the lines of “My own aunt, I can’t believe she shot me.” Luckily, it’s her shoulder. Scott is doing first aid and draining her pain until the police and ambulances get there. He’s already applied pressure to Allison’s wound and has put the emergency blanket from the sheriff’s cruiser around her to try to stave off shock. 

Peter is...Peter looks. Broken. Bloody. Happy. Like, maybe his laughter is unhinged and maybe it’s creeping people out. Stiles goes to move towards him, but oh, yeah, he’s tied to a pipe and he tries to bring attention to himself, but oh, yeah, his windpipe was almost crushed during the strangulation part of Kate’s final torture goodbye tour. “Peter,” he tries to call, but he just croaks out nothing. 

Derek is the first one to make it over to him, probably due to the whole werewolf superspeed thing. He’s come out of this relatively physically unscathed, but he’s definitely got some shit to work out in therapy. Hell, Stiles has some shit to work out--after he’s no longer more black and blue than flesh colored. And after he’s made sure everyone else is taken care of. 

“Oh, hey, that feels nice,” Stiles manages to whisper. Derek just grunts back at him as he drains his pain with one hand on his cheek while he slashes through the ropes with the claws on his other hand. His dad comes over and checks on them, giving Stiles a pat on the shoulder (which is bruised like the rest of him, hence no bone-crushing hug) before he’s waved off to go check on everyone else.

When the police cruisers arrive, Deputy Parrish makes a beeline for him without even stopping to talk to his dad. Oh, look at that, the hot deputy has grown fond of him. “Stiles, are you okay?” He takes in the weird cheek-touching that’s going on and backs down a little. “Sorry, you must be Stiles’s, uh, person. I’m Zack Parrish. You’re Peter, right?” Derek just lets out a derisive little laugh.

“No, that’s Derek. Excuse his manners--raised by wolves.” Derek grips his shoulder a bit hard, letting some claws dig in. He gets really touchy about joking about werewolf stuff in front of the normies.

A throat clears from behind Parrish and he turns around, looks slightly confused, then looks down to where Peter has crawled over despite the broken leg (and it’s super broken and makes Stiles a little queasy just looking at it. That could also be the concussion.) Peter continues to crawl to Stiles, grinding his teeth and hissing as each movement jostles his mangled leg. “I’m Peter,” he breathes out. He actually bats Derek’s hand away and growls at him. “Are you okay?” he asks Stiles.

“Nothing a few hundred stitches won’t fix.” He tries to smile at Peter, but his lip cracks open again in three different places. Peter moves his hand up to Stiles’s mouth and rubs a thumb through his blood. Whatever is going on here seems weirdly erotic and definitely inappropriate. Especially when Peter leans in to kiss him softly, very mindful of the fact that his body hurts all over. He pulls back and now Stiles’s blood is all over his lips. He licks them, maintaining eye contact, but misses a spot. Stiles leans in to wipe that spot away, and Peter turns his head slightly, sucks the tip of Stiles’s index finger into his mouth and that certainly is a new sensation. He’s pretty sure he makes a strangled noise, but he’s been strangled today, so.

“This is gross, even for…” Derek trails off as he realizes Deputy Parrish is watching this whole show, a look of horrified fascination on his face. “Even for us.”

Stiles cannot be bothered to give any fucks. Although he did just find out he might be a little into bloodplay. Or at least not opposed to it. Even though Peter is human and he is also human and maybe blood stuff isn’t okay--Scott’s mom would probably be horrified, at least.

“Hey, Stiles?” his father’s voice calls from where he’s instructing his other deputies in the art of crime scene tape.

“Yeah, Dad?”

“I’m going to need you and Peter to get into the ambulance now. Maybe save that stuff for when you don’t have possible internal bleeding and an audience.” Hashtag best dad.

Stiles leans forward this time to give Peter a quick kiss on the cheek and then attempts to get up, fails. Derek catches him as he falls back down, still dizzy. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen to his brain. Hey, he and Peter can have matching brain damage--way better than monogrammed towels. Derek helps him get up and then just carries him over to the ambulance. Derek can be pretty useful, even if he has a sourpuss all the time. Derek ruins the Derek Appreciation thoughts by opening his mouth.

“You know Peter was just putting on a show for Parrish, right?”

“And why would he do that?”

“The hot, young deputy has the hots for hot, young you.” Stiles is either hallucinating or Derek is putting his poetry minor to use with that alliteration. 

“What? No. I’ve been Veronica Marsing him for information. He always says things to let me know he’s not interested.”

“Not because he wants to. Probably because your dad is his boss.”

“No way.” Now Stiles feels terrible.

“Yes way.” Derek’s deadpan leaves a lot to be desired.

“So, why did Peter get all growly? You can smell and hear things. He can’t.”

“Just because Peter’s human, doesn’t mean he’s not a wolf.”

Derek sets him down on the stretcher that’s waiting for him, leaving him to the EMT, who really doesn’t know where to start on him. They’re not waiting long before Peter is brought over, complaining about being carried by his nephew the whole time. Derek “accidentally” jostles his leg as he sets him down on his own stretcher. This is when Stiles realizes that they have to go in separate ambulances and he almost throws a fit, but then bam, an IV is in his arm and he’s being hauled away.

 

 

“What the hell is going on with you?!” Melissa McCall refuses to let Scott into Stiles or Allison’s rooms until he can explain why his two closest friends are both hospitalized with serious wounds. 

“Mom, I can explain. Uh, maybe.” They’re outside of Stiles’s room and he can tell that Scott’s about to spill it all in a nonsensical and non-linear way in the middle of the hospital hallway. So he pushes the nurse button, like, twelve times in a row. A nurse yells at Melissa from the station that her other kid is in need of assistance. What they don’t say is that it’s the annoying one who keeps trying to get out of bed to go visit that Argent girl. Stiles is really worried about her family’s reaction to this whole mess.

Melissa walks in with her hands on her hips, but her face is soft. “Can I get you anything, sweetie?”

“Come in and close the door. My dad will be back from the vending machine in a second and we can all have a polite, comfortable chat about what exactly is going on.” Stiles pointedly whispers, “Scott, you get in here, too.” Melissa’s eyebrows shoot up to her hairline when Scott does just that. Stiles grabs her hand, the hand of the only parent who never looked at her kid and said _that Stilinski boy can’t come over anymore._ She sits down in the chair his dad has been occupying when he can get away from police work and looks at his battered little body. Stiles hopes how pitiful he looks will work to his advantage when he starts talking about how he dragged Scott out to the woods in the middle of the night and how his best friend was irrevocably changed because of his insatiable curiosity.

His dad walks in a few minutes later, arms laden with greasy chips and sticky sweets. “Dad, seriously, do you need all of that fat and sugar?” He lets the caffeinated coffee slide...for now. “Anyway, we’re telling Mrs. McCall the truth, so, back me up here.”

Stiles wishes he had the password protected PowerPoint he had written when he “came out” to his dad about all of this stuff.

 

He wakes up after his first full night in the hospital to the sounds of metal banging against his door frame and a familiar voice swearing. Swimming in a bit of a pain killer haze, he’s not exactly keen on opening his eyes or doing anything, really. Also, if he so much as blinks, the pain from _four fractured ribs_ makes him want to die.

He opens his eyes anyway, because he’s Stiles and curiosity. He smiles when he sees Peter fighting the doorjamb with his full leg cast and wheelchair. “I feel like I’m watching someone in a Hummer try to parallel park in a compact space.” Wow, he’s slurring all of his words.

“Yes, well. The first time I was in one of these things, I was catatonic. Other people did all of the work for me.”

“At least you don’t have a catheter this time.” Peter winces because he probably doesn’t want to think about the six years that was spent with a tube shoved up his dick. And now he’s thinking about Peter’s dick. His life is so hard.

“What are you on?”

Now Stiles is worried he’s been saying everything aloud. Hopefully, Peter can’t understand him when he says things about dicks. “Codeine, I think. Whatever it is, it’s wonderful.” Now that he’s won the battle and is in the room, he wheels over to sit beside Stiles, backs his wheelchair into the little niche between the wall and his bed and settles in. Reaches for the remote and starts flipping through the channels.

“Ooooh, Twin Peaks.”

Stiles dozes off for just a second, shakes himself out of it, then rolls over to face Peter with his whole body--it really hurts, a lot, but he’d rather watch Peter’s stupidly handsome face than Twin Peaks for the tenth time. “Why do you get to wear normal clothes?”

“They discharged me.” Oh. _Oh_. Cool. He’s pretty sure Peter loves him and wants to marry him. But he probably shouldn’t ask while he’s goofed up on painkillers. Or maybe he shouldn’t ever ask and keep it inside.

“So.” Goddammit, Stiles, shut your mouth. “Parrish called you my person.”

Peter just steeples his fingers together in front of his face, leaning his arms on the rests of the wheelchair. “Yes. He did.” Cool, confirmation of a fact. That’s totally what Stiles is angling for here.

Stiles swallows before he starts to drool again. It’s a real problem for him with all of this drug-induced sleepiness. “Well, are you, uh, my person?”

“Yes.” He says it like it’s so simple and that Stiles hasn’t been obsessing over it since it happened. 

“Okay.” He wants to reach out and touch him and like hold his hand, but he can’t bring himself to move and he’s pretty sure he’s going to actually go back to sleep very soon. So he settles for a sleepy smile. “Please stay.”

“Of course I’ll stay. There’s a Twin Peaks marathon on.”

He thinks he says, “Thanks, Jimmy Stewart from Rear Window,” before losing his struggle to stay awake. He hopes he did say it--it’s a solid reference.


End file.
